Page 2 of Last Duke Standing

Sir Corin clasped his hands together in anticipation, clearly trying to contain his glee.

“Your great-great-aunt Queen Elena!”

Queen Elena had beheaded Lord Rabat? “Herhusband?”

“Worse. Herbrother.”

Justine gasped. “But why?”

“Because Rabat meant to behead her first. Whoever survived the battle here would be crowned the sovereign.”

“Ooh, a bloody battle it was, too,” Sir Corin said eagerly. “Four thousand souls lost, many of them falling right off the battlement.”

Justine backed up a step. A quake was beginning somewhere deep inside her, making her a little short of breath. Her knees felt as if they might buckle, and her skin crawled with anxiety, imagining the loss of so many. “Could she not have banished him?”

“And have him slither back like a snake?” Her father draped his arm around her shoulders before she could back up all the way to St. Edys. “She did the right thing. Why, minutes before, she was on the block herself.”

“DearGod,” Justine whispered.

“But at the last minute the people here saved her,” her father said. “She sentenced her brother to die immediately for his insurrection and stood right where we are now to watch his traitorous head roll.”

“Well,” Sir Corin said. “I wouldn’t say itrolled,precisely.”

The two men laughed again.

“Don’t close your eyes, darling,” her father said, squeezing her into his side. “Look at that block. Elena was only seventeen years old, but she was very clever. She knew what she had to do to hold power and rule the kingdom. And she ruled a very long time.”

“Forty-three years, all told,” Sir Corin said proudly.

“Queen Elena learned what every sovereign must—be decisive and act quickly. Do you understand?”

“I don’t...think so?” Justine was starting to feel a bit like she was spinning.

“You will.” Her father dropped his arm. He wandered over to the block to inspect it. “We almost named you Elena after her. But they called her Elena the Bi—Witch,” he said. “And your mother feared they might call you the same.”

“You said she was a good queen.”

“She was an excellent queen. But sometimes it is difficult to do the things that must be done and keep the admiration of your people at the same time.”

The spinning was getting worse. She gripped her father’s arm. “Why?”

“Because people expect a woman to behave like a woman. But a good queen must sometimes behave more like a king for the good of the kingdom. People don’t care for it.” He shrugged. “No king or queen can make all their subjects happy all the time.” He suddenly smiled. “You look a bit like Queen Elena.”

“The very image,” Sir Corin piped up.

Later that day Justine saw a portrait of Queen Elena. She wasn’t smiling, but she didn’t appear completely unpleasant. She simply looked...determined. And her dress was elegantly pretty, with lots of pearls sewn into it.

Later still, when her father and his men had retired to smoke cigars and talk about coal or some such, Justine returned to the courtyard alone. No one was there, no sentry looking out for marauders or runaway brides. She looked up at the tops of pines bending in a relentless wind, appearing to scrape a dull gray sky. She walked up the steps to the battlement and gazed out over the mountain valley below the castle. She spread her arms wide, closed her eyes and turned her face to the heavens.

That was the first time she truly felt it—the pull from somewhere deep, the energy of all the kings and queens who had come before her, rising up to the crown of her head, anchoring her to this earth. She felt the centuries of warfare and struggle, of the people her family had ruled. She felt the enormous responsibilities they’d all carried, the work they’d done to carve a road to the future.

Her father had often said that he could feel the weight of his crown on his shoulders. But Justine felt something entirely different. She didn’t feel as if it was weighing her down, but more like it was lifting her off her feet and holding her here. She didn’t believe this was a conceit on her part, but a tether to her past. She would be a queen. She knew that she would, and standing there, she felt like she should be. She felt born to it.

A gust of wind very nearly sent her flying, so she came down from the battlement. She paused just before the block and tried to imagine herself on her knees, knowing her death was imminent. She imagined how she would look. She hoped she would appear strong and noble with no hint of her fear of the pain or the unknown.

Being queen was her destiny. She knew it would come.

But she hadn’t known then it would come so soon.

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